TELLING RUTH THE NEWS
"Yes, it was a busy two weeks," declared Arline Thayer, "and yet, oh,
Grace, you can't possibly know how slowly the time has gone. I am sure I
could live all the rest of my life on a desert island if I had the
Semper Fidelis crowd with me. Of course, Ruth helped a whole lot, but
you know Ruth isn't a butterfly like I am. She has had so many cares and
disappointments that she isn't as gay in her wildest moments as I am in
my ordinary ones. Besides, it was so hard to be sure that I was doing
and saying the right thing. I was so afraid of hurting some one's
feelings, or of being accused of trying to patronize those girls.
"The dinner passed off beautifully. Every girl who stayed over was
there. It cost me most of my check." Here Arline smiled rather ruefully.
"But you never saw so many happy girls. Many of them had never been to
either Martell's or Vinton's for dinner. I was at Vinton's and Ruth was
at Martell's. No one had the slightest idea that there was anything cut
and dried. We did all the other stunts; the play and the masquerade, and
I am so tired." Arline curled herself up on Grace's couch, looking like
an exhausted kitten. "I wonder if Elfreda has any tea," she said
plaintively.
"Of course she has," smiled Grace. "So have I. I'll make you some at
once. Then I have something perfectly amazing to tell you. You won't
remember whether you are tired or not after you hear my news."
Taking the little copper tea-kettle, Grace went for water, leaving
Arline considerably mystified and mildly excited. When at last the tea
was ready, and Grace had placed crackers, nabisco wafers and a plate of
home-made nut cookies on the table between them, Arline said
impatiently, "Do begin."
"Daffydowndilly, this is the strangest news you ever heard. Ready?"
"Ready," echoed Arline.
"We believe Ruth's father is still living and in Alaska."
There was a little cry of rapture from Arline as she hastily set down
her cup and caught Grace's hand in hers. "Congratulations," she trilled.
"I knew you'd find him. I've seen it in your eye for months."
"Nonsense," laughed Grace, "I don't deserve a particle of credit. It was
quite by accident that I learned what I know of him." There-upon an
account of their visit to old Jean followed, and Arline was soon in full
possession of the details.
"Shall you tell Ruth?" was her first question after Grace had finished.
"What would you do?" Grace asked.
"I don't think it would be best to tell her yet," returned Arline
slowly. "Suppose we were to find that he had died or disappeared again
since your old hunter received his letter. Think how dreadful that would
be after telling her that he was alive and well. We must not arouse her
hopes until we know."
Grace nodded gravely. "That is what I thought. I am glad you are of the
same mind. No one here except yourself and Elfreda have been told. Of
course, Anne and Miriam heard it at the same time I did. I wrote to Mr.
Denton at once, but I suppose my letter isn't more than half way to Nome
yet."
"Oh, it is the greatest thing that ever happened," exulted Arline.
"Ruth's father found at last, away up in old, cold Alaska. Hurrah!"
"Stop making so much noise," cautioned Grace, "while I tell you what I
propose doing. It is two weeks since I wrote to Mr. Denton. I am going
to write another letter to him before long. If he doesn't answer that, I
shall stop for a while, then write again. If he is not in Nome I shall
request the post-master to forward the letters, if possible."
At this juncture a knock sounded on the almost closed door, then Elfreda
came hurrying in, her cheeks glowing from her walk in the January wind.
"Were you talking secrets?" she demanded, without stopping to greet
Arline.
"No,--that is--yes," replied Arline. "Grace was telling me about Ruth's
father and--"
Elfreda dropped on the couch beside Arline with a groan of dismay. "Why
didn't you close the door?" she asked gloomily.
"Why? What has happened?" questioned Grace anxiously.
"Nothing much," retorted Elfreda, "only that West person was standing as
close to your door as she could possibly stand without attracting marked
attention. She was listening, too. I saw her when I reached the first
landing. At first I thought I would walk up to her and call her to
account for eavesdropping. But before I could make up my mind just what
to do she went on down the hall to her room. I suppose you will hear
about this affair of Ruth finding her father from a dozen different
sources to-morrow. She will go directly to the Wicks-Hampton faction
with the news. She may have gone already."
[Illustration: "She was Standing Close to the Door."]
"This is dreadful," gasped Grace in consternation, "but our own fault.
Will I ever learn to keep my door closed and either whisper my secrets
or else lock them behind my lips?"
"It was my fault," declared Arline contritely. "I was shouting, 'Ruth's
father found at last!' at the top of my voice. Grace told me to
subside."
"Perhaps she only heard that much," comforted Elfreda, trying to be a
little more hopeful.
"Suppose she tells Ruth," suggested Arline nervously.
Grace's eyes met those of her friend's in genuine alarm. Without a word
she went to the closet and reaching for her coat and furs slipped them
on. Jamming her fur cap down on her head, she pinned it securely, thrust
her hands into her muff and walked to the door. "Elfreda, you will take
care of Arline, won't you? She is going to stay with me for dinner. I am
going to Ruth's and I think perhaps I had better go alone. I'll be back
as soon as possible, and bring Ruth with me, if I can. Tell Mrs. Elwood
that Ruth will be here. I must be off. I will see you at dinner."
Grace was out of the room and down the stairs in a twinkling. As she set
off toward Ruth's at a rapid pace she wondered if there was not some way
in which she might capitulate with this strange girl who seemed so
determined to blot the pages of her freshman year with unworthy deeds.
"I am so disappointed," Grace reflected. "I did wish to like her because
she was Mabel's friend, but she is so--so--different." It cost Grace an
effort to end her sentence mildly. "But I'm not going to gossip about
her, even to myself."
After ringing three times Ruth's tired-eyed landlady opened the door to
Grace with a mumbled apology about being in the attic when the bell
rang. Grace hurried up the two flights of stairs and down the long, bare
hall to Ruth's room. She paused an instant before knocking, half
expecting to hear the sound of voices inside. All was still. Grace
knocked twice, pausing between knocks. It was a signal Ruth and her
intimate friends had adopted.
Ruth answered the signal, a book in her hand. She gave a little cry of
delight at seeing Grace. "How funny! I was just thinking of you. Come in
and take off your wraps. Did you come to help me cook supper? You
promised me you would some day."
"No; I came to take you back to Wayne Hall with me. But, first of all,
has Kathleen West been here to see you within the past half hour?" said
Grace, stepping into the room and closing the door after her.
"No," replied Ruth wonderingly. "Why do you ask? But do sit down,
Grace."
"I'm so glad," sighed Grace, sitting on the edge of the chair, "because
she overheard something that I wish to tell you first."
"I don't understand," was Ruth's perplexed answer.
"I don't blame you for not understanding," smiled Grace. Then she rose,
and, crossing the room, put her hands on her friend's shoulder. "Ruth,"
she said gently, "if you might have one wish granted to you, what would
you wish?"
"To find my father," was the instant reply.
"That is what I thought you would say," returned Grace quietly. "Can you
bear good news?"
"Yes." Ruth's face had turned very white. She pulled one of Grace's
hands from her shoulder, holding it in hers. "Tell me," she whispered
tensely.
Grace's gray eyes filled with tears. The hungry look in Ruth's eyes told
its own story. "He is alive, Ruth," she said, steadying her voice. "At
least he was alive less than six months ago. I'll begin at the very
first and tell you everything."
It was half an hour later when the two friends set out for Wayne Hall.
"I am so happy; it seems as though I must be with you girls to-night,"
declared Ruth. "I am so anxious to see Arline. My Daffydowndilly will be
happy, too, for my sake. And Grace, I have a strange presentiment that I
shall see him before long. I can't think of him as anything but alive.
I'm so glad that you told me. It would have been a dreadful shock to
have had the news come through Miss West or her friends."
"She hasn't the slightest idea that we know she was in the hall," said
Grace. "I imagine you will hear of your father through half a dozen
different sources in the morning. I don't believe she intended to tell
you to-day. I think it was part of her plan to take you by surprise and
completely unnerve you. Alberta Wicks and Mary Hampton are efficient
town criers," Grace added bitterly. "She depended on them to spread the
news in the cruelest way."
"Why, Grace, I never heard you speak so bitterly of any one before!"
exclaimed Ruth.
"Ruth, to tell the honest truth, I am thoroughly disgusted with those
two girls," confessed Grace wearily. "They have been at the bottom of
every annoyance I have had since I came to Overton. It may not be
charitable to say so, but I shall certainly not regret seeing them
graduated and gone from Overton. I know it sounds selfish, but I can't
help it. I mean it. And now we are going to talk only of delightful
things. I think we ought to give a spread to-night in honor of you. It
isn't every day one finds a long-lost father. Arline is going to stay to
dinner, and, of course, she'll stay afterward."
Grace's proposal of a spread met with gleeful approval, and in spite of
a hearty six-o'clock dinner, there was no lack of appetite when at ten
o'clock Elfreda, who insisted on taking the labor of the spread upon her
own shoulders, appeared in the door announcing that it was ready. By
borrowing Grace's table and using it in conjunction with her own,
employing the bureau scarf for a centerpiece, and filling up the bare
spaces with paper napkins, the table assumed the dignity of a banqueting
board. There were even glasses and plates and spoons enough to go round
and one could have either grape juice or tea, Elfreda informed them.
"You'd better take tea first, though, because there are only two bottles
of grape juice, and we need that for the toast to Ruth's father. Of
course if you insist upon having grape juice----"
"Tea," was the judiciously lowered chorus from the obliging guests.
"Thank you," bowed Elfreda. "I wouldn't have given you the grape juice,
at any rate."
By half-past ten nothing remained of the feast but the grape juice, and
the guests began clamoring insistently for that.
"We are breaking the ten-thirty rule into microscopic pieces," declared
Elfreda as she dropped slices of orange and pineapple on the ice in the
bottom of the glasses, added orange juice, sugar and grape juice. "If it
isn't sweet enough, help yourself to sugar. The bowl is on the table.
And you can only have one straw apiece. The commissary department is
short on straws. A word of warning, don't drink the toast to Ruth's
father through a straw," she ended with a giggle.
The giggle proved infectious and went the round of the table. Grace was
the first to remember the toast to be drunk. Elfreda had just poured the
sixth, her own glass of grape juice, and slipped into her place at the
table. Rising to her feet Grace said simply, "To Ruth's father. May she
see him soon." The toast was drunk standing. Ruth still looked rather
dazed. She could not yet think of her father as a reality.
"I thank you all," she said tremulously, her eyes misty. "Of course you
know I am not quite certain of my great happiness, but I am going to
write to Father to-morrow, and perhaps before long I'll have a letter to
show you."
"If Ruth is to be surprised now, some one will have to get up early in
the morning," declared Elfreda with satisfaction, as she collected the
dishes for washing after the guests had departed.
"And that some one will be doomed to feel foolish," added Miriam.